clearer days
by Phillippa of the Phoenix
Summary: Change is forever. [drabble collection]
1. mimbulus mimbletonia

It is I, and I have been practicing drabbles. I decided to share them, on the off chance that someone cares.

This one is actually exactly one hundred words. You are obviously all agog at my amazing abilities.

DISCLAIMER: Algie, Augusta, Frank, Neville, Trevor and that little gray cactus all belong to a woman who goes by Joanne Kathleen Rowling. Perhaps you've heard of her?

WARNING: Rubbish gifts and the general suckiness of Neville's life.

* * *

Great-Uncle Algie has always been his favorite relative, despite, or perhaps because of, everything. The few decent birthday gifts he had received were all from him. This one was the best of all, it almost made up for the rest of the rubbish he had gotten. According to_ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, _it was remarkably rare. When he had given him Trevor, Great-Uncle Algie had growled, "Don't lose 'im." This time, he had said, "You're your own man, Neville Longbottom." And when Neville looked at that little gray cactus, he almost believed – 

"Frank always hated Herbology," Gran said.

* * *

postscript: Yay! The page break LIVES! And I'm sorry if you all feel like a good cry now. Here! Here's Neville to hug! But don't hug him too much, as Luna is likely to get jealous, or at least, take him away and hid him.

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	2. capacity

**Capacity**

_(Is it possible for a brain to run out of space for information?)_

The number of reviews was really a surprise . . . (yawns) Anyway, Emily, here's the second drabble, which is actually like a drabble times three. (300 words, mate!)

disclaimer: Hogwarts, Ron, Quidditch, Hermione, Harry, Horcruxes, and anything else you recognise are not mine, and you never heard me insinuate that they were, comprende?

warning: really really shippy, but I just couldn't help myself.

* * *

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds," Ron said, and paused. In that pause, he looked at my face as he would at a Quidditch match, deeply concentrating, trying to figure out something very important. I tried not to let everything show. 

"Ah, right," I said as lightly as I could, watching Harry attempt to skip rocks on whatever quaint little body of water we were presently resting next to. Maybe I knew the name of it, once upon a time.

"_Hogwarts, a History_," Ron announced, as if he was answering something.

"What?" _Mustn't take too much care to sound innocent, Hermione, or you'll give yourself away._

"You didn't bring it."

"You're right." Of course, this did not satisfy him, but he simply moved speechlessly closer to me, and dropped his heavy hand on mine, focused his blue eyes on mine and waited. "It . . . didn't seem very important." He tilted his head and asked me why not. "There are more important things for me to remember now," I whispered to the rock that sails from Harry's hand. It skipped three times and sunk into the water silently.

He waited again, long enough for me to memorize his heartbeat, before he offered a bit of comfort. "You aren't losing your mind."

My "no" was sharp and asked him to prove it. He won't. "Ron, I need to concentrate on Horcruxes right now, I can't think about anything else, especially . . ." I half expected him to blush at my silent pronoun, but he didn't, he just took my hand and held it to his heart, as if by osmosis he was giving me a bit of it.

"Just promise," he said, his voice as heavy as his hand, "that you'll always remember me."

"I will."

* * *

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	3. turn

**Turn**

_All he wanted was to see if he would remember the lullabies.  
_

* * *

He watches his parents without speaking, because sometimes that's the best way to think. His father's tired face, his mother's tired eyes, their hands resting inside of each other. Love without speaking, love without thought. They lean a little bit against each other, watching their baby sleeping with little smiles that tell the world how proud they are of him. But the stillness is not forever: their baby suddenly wakes up and begins to cry out for his mother's warmth. "Sh," she cooes, smoothing his unruly hair down. "Sh, Harry, Mummy's here."

He turns away and begins turns the hourglass.

* * *

Amazing, as I didn't even write it as a Time-Turner peice until the forth sentence . . . and I'm not really sure I like it. Maybe you'll get something out of it anyways.

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	4. rarely

**Rarely**

_(Some of Ronald Weasley's freckles seem to be missing.)_

disclaimer: Ronald Weasley's freckles and Hermione Granger's probable obsession about them are not belonging to me._  
_

* * *

When good triumphs in the way that it's supposed to, that's supposed to lead you to an unfailing, Grandma's recipe book happy ending. We like to forget that life is still life after the worst trial happens.

He seemed to have lost freckles in the war, in the same way that some people lost various appendages. Not that they had been counted, (who would do something like count a Weasley's freckles, unless they were completely mental?) but there seemed to be less of them spotting his face. Perhaps they hid themselves when the world grew so dark, as they always seemed to multiply in bright summer. Sometimes, the feeling that whispering to them that the sun had since then dawned was the only thing to be done was so strong that she actually bit her tongue to stop the silly words from escaping.

They were rarely silly now, you see.

* * *

Word count: 150.

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	5. maturity

**Maturity**

Sans_ pigtails, Hannah reminds him of her mother._)

Disclaimer: I am not trying to say that I thought up Harry Potter and all of his adventures. If I was, this would be on FictionPress. As it isn't . . . well, duh. JK does.

Warning: Dead depressingness compressed into three one-hundred word drabbles, Hufflepuffs, and that seldom-used word "abettor."

* * *

They got the news late at night, which should not surprise. Darkness is an abettor to murderers. He had awoken from a strange dream involving a quill that unwrote words when he heard her scream. He had not heard her scream since fifth year ended, since the DA, but recognised it easily. But it was different from the panicky one that had escaped her before the OWLs, different from the giggly one that she had for a laugh, different from any scream from any person he could remember. She sounded as if her soul were being ripped out of her. 

- - - - -

He knocked on the girls' dorm door as hard as he could, shouting her name, hoping to wake the whole house. Susan opened it with a shocked look on her face. Behind her, he saw Hannah steadily tearing apart a letter, giving a shuttering gasp at every shred. It took him a few times before he realised that she was repeating the same word over and over again, with growing desperation. When the letter pieces were too small for even the most obsessively avid puzzle-lover, she looked up at him, her face so pale and empty, and sobbed it. "Mum."

- - - - -

The couch seemed so large when Hannah was stretched out across it, with her head resting on his lap. They had run out of words very quickly, so quickly that he could not think of what they had even tried to say. Her hair seemed so long and mature, free from pigtails, tripping down his robes, brushing his feet in a motion that could've tickled if she wasn't in so much pain. He carefully took a hold of the hair that hung across her closed eyes and placed it so he could see her. She reminded him of her mother.

* * *

Yay! I now officially ship Ernie/Hannah. I know that it's unlikely that they sent her a letter to tell her that her mother died, but I guess not impossible. I like the rest of the story too well to make a go at changing the whole thing, so you'll have to accept it as is. 

(Postscript: If you didn't notice, this drabble collection has a pattern in the which characters are at the center. A lesser-known character (Neville) -- Hermione/Ron -- Harry -- Hermione/Ron -- Lesser-known characters (Hannah/Ernie) Whee! Maybe now that I've got the hang of this thing, the next ones I post will get reviewed!)

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